


Lost Souls Tied Together

by immortalbanner



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 11th Century, Angst, Historical References, M/M, Merchant Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani, Pre-Relationship, Priest Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Time Skips, i tried to be as accurate as possible but some thing probably slipped through the cracks, interanlised homophobia, joe/omc and nicky/omc mostly minor and for plot reasons, pre slash, the sheer angst of being gay and born in the middle ages, you’ve heard of pre-slash. Well I give you: pre meeting feat. Parallels!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 21:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30078306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalbanner/pseuds/immortalbanner
Summary: Booker once told Joe and Nicky they had always had each other. What he didn't know was that Joe and Nicky had no one before they had each other.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Original Male Character(s), Nicky | Nicolò di Genova/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 118





	Lost Souls Tied Together

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy... oh god.... finally I finished this fic. I've been working on this since November and it's finally done. 
> 
> This basically started out as a little angsty head canon I had then I wanted to write it. Trouble is, I started out going in one direction that was completely differernt to fufill another headcanon I had (my Scriviner file still has the wip name for it too!). Not only that, I was going for a completely differernt writing style that I hadn't done in years that didn't work out at all. That's how you ended up with my specialty: holy fucking shit it did not have to be this long. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic! It was nice to finally finish something again.

_Tunis, 1074_

Like most boys his age, Yusuf was full of curiosity and high energy. He spent most of his days watching his father as he sold wares, watched his two older brothers from afar as they would talk to local girls, helped his little sister try to catch butterflies with only their hands, and ran around the city with a boy his own age named Tariq.

His father had already deemed him to be the heir to his own father’s merchant business. That’s what he’d always heard his mother and father discuss over dinner when they thought he wasn’t listening.

Some nights though, he’d hear whispers of the name ‘Yasmin’. He never put too much thought into it though, even as he’d hear the name with his own more than once. It was probably nothing for him to worry about.

He was out in the city with Tariq that day. They found an alleyway to sit in to take a break from the crowds in the streets. He’d been best friends with Tariq since before he could remember. They would play games in the streets and spy on Yusuf’s brother’s together all the time. He was easily Yusuf’s favourite person.

“My baba let me watch him work today,” Tariq said, half way through the yams they were sharing. “He didn’t let me touch anything though. Just watch so I could learn to be a carpenter too eventually.”

Yusuf beamed at him. “That’s good.” His own father still wouldn’t take him on his travels. He would tell him he was too young, especially when he’d travel farther than Ifriqiya. He would only let him watch when it was around Tunis.

“He says I need to start learning. So I can start one day.”

“Do you think you can do it?” Yusuf asked. He’d ask himself that question about becoming a merchant. He knew it was the path written for him but he found more joy in art. His mother bought him charcoal and a set of paper and he got lost in drawing for hours. His father saw it as something frivolous.

Some days, he wanted to draw Tariq. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way.

Tariq responded to his question with a shrug. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t know what else to do.”

In most ways, Yusuf felt the same. The naivety of youth only ever held questions.

* * *

_Genova, 1075_

As the second son, Nicolò learned quickly there would be many things he could and couldn’t do.

His father was a stoic man. His eyes were focused on nothing but pleasing the church. He was the grandson of a bishop and the son of a priest. It was the obvious choice for him to make.

Nicolò knew, even at the tender age of six years, he wasn’t given the certain privilege of choice.

His elder brother Marco was the eldest and therefore the heir. Nicolò, whether he wished for it or not, was put onto the path of the church. That was his path before he even knew the bland taste of a communion wafer or he knew the first thing about himself.

He never did ask questions. He hadn’t asked much more than what the stars were and why cats could land so gracefully or why the water in the oceans tasted different to water he would drink.

His life was set out for him from his conception. His mother and father prayed for a boy they could send to seminary, to continue the family’s legacy in the church.

Choice wasn’t an option for boys like him. It was only ever the path laid out for him by others. Whether it be his father or God or his priest or something else entirely. He wasn’t sure he’d ever know.

He sat on the docks, watching the water in the distance. He didn’t typically run into the city like this. He stayed wherever his father could see him, sometimes within arms reach.

Days like today weren’t for that. He just stared out into the sea while he wondered to himself if he’d ever to be make choices for himself. Even just to see what was beyond Genova.

He wasn’t ever sure that was an option he’d ever be given, even if he were ever able to make his own choices.

* * *

_Tunis,1080_

It was at his brother Karim’s wedding when he’d met her.

Her name was Yasmin, a name he had forgotten from his youth and one he’d soon forget all over again.

His mother pushed him in her direction like she was attempting to control his fate.

She appeared to be his own age. Dark brown eyes, curly hair, skin a few shades darker than his own.

He found out quickly that she was the daughter of another merchant from the city. The only child.

At fourteen, he knew himself smart enough to see what his mother and father were hoping. Even if they didn’t outright say.

He never thought about getting married. Arranged or otherwise. His own parents had had an arranged marriage, his brother Karim’s was too. His other brother Hamza stood out with his own love marriage.

Yusuf was never sure where he would fall. When he looked at Yasmin he didn’t see himself wanting to have an arranged marriage. But when he looked at any of the girls his own age in the city he couldn’t see any potential of a love marriage either.

Love itself had always been an odd thing to Yusuf. At times he had to wonder if it was something even tangible. If it was even made for him.

He had gone through pages of poetry of words written by men describing the beauty of their lover. The curve of breasts and collarbones. Yusuf had spent years squinting at girls his age, trying to see their shapes as something one would find appeal in. He’d heard Karim and Hamza talk about girls and women for years. Girls older than him were still a mystery, what even constituted so many words of poetry he would find in books?

He didn’t voice any of that. He knew his parents would give him a choice in the matter, even if they gave him strong encouragement into one specific direction.

Tariq was at the wedding too. He sat with his father, mother, and younger sister. He sat straight like he had to make a good impression as the eldest and only son.

Yusuf caught his eye and across the mosque as his mother and Yasmin’s own started to talk. Yasmin had a particularly bored look on her face.

He slipped away and Tariq followed, the two of them leaving the mosque and stepping down onto the streets.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Yusuf didn’t have a destination in mind. He just needed to be alone with Tariq for a while.

Something always felt right when he was with him. Yusuf wasn’t quite sure what it was. The rightness he felt was so natural he wasn’t sure where else he’d find it.

“I think my mother introduced me to who she wants me to marry,” Yusuf said to break their silence.

Tariq was quiet for a few more moments. “Do you think you will?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was she pretty?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Tariq gave him a long look. “How couldn’t you know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is that your only answer?”

He stopped himself from repeating the same phrase. “I am not sure I ever want to get married. Women still haven’t become pleasing to me.”

Tariq still stared at him as if he was try to decipher a difficult code. “I think my mother and father will introduce me to who they want me to marry soon. I think they’d find me someone I can grow to love.”

Yusuf bit his lip and stared at the ground. He would hope he could say the same but he was just full of more and more questions.

When they got to Tariq’s family’s home it was still empty. They sat on the floor, cross legged and facing each other. Their knees weren’t quite touching and Yusuf had some sort of desire to press them together.

“I wish I knew why I don’t feel how I should,” Yusuf said, his voice coming out of nowhere.

He really did wish he knew. Other boys his own age around him talked endlessly about the girls around them, about their excitement to start attending brothels one day, about their own betrothed.

Yusuf would always sit there in silence like a ghost. He couldn’t even humour them. He didn’t particularity want to. He would simply wait for the conversation to teeter out and for the topic to change.

He felt a knee press against his own. He met Tariq’s eye and they held it like they were balancing on a line.

He stared at the eyes that were a familiar comfort. Eyes he saw when he would go to sleep at night.

Yusuf leaned forward slightly, Tariq mirroring him with ease.

His hand touched Tariq’s knee. Tariq grazed their fingers together before settling his hand over his own.

When their lips met it was as if all the thoughts scrambled in his head finally started to make sense.

* * *

_Genova, 1085_

The docks had become a sort of sanctuary for Nicolò, more than the church ever had been.

He wasn’t sure if that was some kind of blasphemy.

He stared into the ocean, wondering to himself what stood over it. If he’d ever be able to see it. Maybe he could jump in and let the water take him wherever it wanted. He could avoid going back to seminary to copy down scripture and practice his Latin. He didn’t really want to continue his life to become a priest. His sixteenth year should be spent elsewhere, not locked inside walls with stained glass windows and where its always cold.

He heard the sound of a boat and looked down to see a young man. He was sitting behind an elderly man with white beard and sun kissed skin. The young man looked up at Nicolò with dark brown eyes and a smile that could melt a heart.

He was the other reason he kept coming back to the docks.

He watched the man tie up the boat and the older man collected the net that held the fish they’d caught.

“Pietro, grab the crate of supplies, would you?” the older man said as he got off the boat and paid Nicolò no mind.

“Yes, boss,” Pietro said. His boss continued ahead without him as Pietro cleared up everything in the boat. Nicolò stayed where he was, wondering if he should say anything to Pietro.

Pietro onto the dock, crate in his arms. Nicolò did his best to not stare.

“I see you here a lot.”

He looked up at Pietro, it taking a moment for him to realise he had been speaking to him.

Nicolò shrugged. “I like the docks. It’s a lovely view.”

Pietro smiled and set down the crate, sitting next to him over the dock. He could smell the salt of the sea on him. “I’m Pietro.”

“Nicolò.” His voice came out smoother than he thought it would.

He’d been watching Pietro for over a year now, usually too anxious to say a word to him. He’d tried to keep his thoughts clean but whenever he’d try he’d think about the first time he’d seen Pietro’s bare chest. He’d jumped into the water to save his fishing poll that had gone overboard. Nicolò eyes followed him as he swam and came back to the surface, pulling himself back onto the dock.

When it had happened, Nicolò had stood up and left. He’d thought he could run from his thoughts. Instead, they followed him like a demon. He knew his thoughts were of sin and temptation he had to avoid. But sometimes it felt nice to indulge in it in his mind.

Having him so close made it feel like his stomach did a back-flip. He knew not to expect anything of it. Pietro will most likely immediately forget about him until he saw him at the dock again.

Pietro gave him a warm smile. “Well, I should be getting back to work.”

Before Nicolò could think of anything else to say, Pietro’s hand brushed his shoulder as he stood up. He froze for a moment and watched him pick up the crate and walk down the pier. He kept his eyes on him until he was too small of a spec to see.

He saw him again two weeks later.

He had left seminary for the day to walk around the city. It was warm that day and he’d always found enjoyment in taking in the salt air on those kind of days.

He saw Pietro as he stood on the edge of the marketplace. He was standing at a fruit stall. When their eyes met, he smiled at Nicolò in a way that made his heart begin to race. Pietro said something to the vendor before making his way over to him with a bag of whatever he’d bought.

“Nicolò! It’s nice to see you again.”

Nicolò smiled back at him. “You too. Funny to run into each other again,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too much. He couldn’t make his affection too obvious, that would be far too risky. He’d become somewhat of an expert at keeping whatever attraction he’d had to men to himself.

“Yes, yes. I was simply picking up some fruit. I have a day off from my work fishing since my boss is short in supplies. Thought I’d take in the sights more.” He gave Nicolò a long look that held more than what outsiders would notice, but something he couldn’t miss.

He didn’t say anything. If he was going to be a priest, he couldn’t allow himself to indulge in acts of sodomy. Even if he weren’t on this path, it would still be a sin to avoid.

Nicolò didn’t consider himself to be a perfect person though.

“Are you busy for the rest of the day?” Pietro asked.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly extremely dry. “Not particularity.”

A smile flashed on his lips. “Well I live close by. You can come if you’d like.”

He should say no. He didn’t trust himself and anything he could find himself tempted to do.

Instead he nodded and followed Pietro too his home, and from that day forward it was like he’d already been sent to hell.

* * *

_Tunis, 1086_

Tariq was sound asleep next to Yusuf, their legs tangled together under the sheets. His face was buried in Yusuf’s chest and he held him like something craved out of marble.

It had been six years since they’d started their song and dance. Six years since their lips met in innocent youth and attempts to understand feelings they didn’t know.

It was a welcome distraction as they went into adulthood and pretended they weren’t aware of what was ahead of them. They could live in their moment together as if it wasn’t all happening.

He’d spent the last six years also slowly learning how to eventually take over the merchant business. His father let him go out on his own a few times recently. He’d done the best he could, he knew he would be able to handle it. He knew his life would go into a direction of artist by passion, merchant by trade. He probably didn’t have the skills to be able to turn it into his main trade. There were far more skilled artists out there he could only dream of measuring up to. He’d need years of practice to near their perfection.

He felt Tariq stir in his arms. Yusuf sighed and kissed the top of his head. “You awake?”

“Yes,” he yawned and untangled himself from his arms. He missed the warmth of him immediately. “I should probably head home. My father needs me to work.”

He knew there was no use in protesting so he nodded. “Of course.”

When Tariq left, he sat alone in his bed and stared at his lap. He was meant to return to his parents home as today was one he was meant to see Yasmin.

Yasmin had grown into a beautiful woman. Many of the men in their city were envious he had been betrothed to her for as long as he had. He would always smile and nod along while he would still attempt to make sense of her beauty in the way he could see Tariq’s.

He still didn’t know how to put that into words. He knew the words sodomite had existed long before he was ever born. He knew other men desired men in such a way that it was like a viper was whispering in your ear to commit such a sin.

He couldn’t even say he didn’t care he was committing sin. But when he’d heard the whisper of the immorality of buggery, he’d always heard it around acts of the body. Yusuf couldn’t say that was all Tariq was to him. When he thought of what he wanted from Tariq, it wasn’t only his body but his mind and his love. He knew men could fall in love, he’d found poetry that somehow put those confusing feelings into the words they needed to be.

He just wasn’t sure how that was possible for him and how he was meant to go on with his life knowing that those desires didn’t fell to women holistically. It felt like a certain cruelness to Yasmin if he’d spent the rest of his life quiet about his absence of desire.

His parents had always told him the choice fell onto him, even with a certain amount of nudging into one direction. He’d never objected simply because he knew there would be consequences regardless. His father wanted to expand the merchant business, this was one way to do that. But he wished it didn’t come at the cost where Yusuf felt like he had to put himself into a position he didn’t want to be in.

When he reached his parent’s home, Yasmin was sitting with his sister Ramla as they drank tea. Yasmin’s mother and father sat with his own.

All eyes fell onto him expectantly.

He smiled and sat with Yasmin, far enough away so they weren’t touching.

“Hello, Yusuf,” Yasmin’s father said. “I was wondering if you were even going to show up.”

He swallowed. “I slept in for the morning. I apologise.”

He waved him off. “No need, boy. I simply hope this behaviour doesn’t continue once you and my Yasmin are wed.”

Ramla snorted as Yasmin gave a small smile, her cheeks slightly flushing.

Yusuf had been told consistently he was a handsome youth. Over the years his friends had encouraged him to court girls before he was bound to Yasmin and how he’d have the easiest time of all of them.

He would always smile them off and say he wasn’t interested into those sort of things. Then he’d return to Tariq’s touch in a way that felt more natural to him than Yasmin ever could.

He tuned out of the conversations about the wedding. It was a month away now but he simply dreaded every day leading up to it. He’d agreed because he knew it was what was best for his family but the thought of Tariq never left him. He wasn’t even sure if Tariq knew what he wanted. They’d gone through the years not thinking about the inevitable only to go into frozen shock when it was right in front of them.

He knew he could always back out. He wasn’t the eldest son so he didn’t feel that obligation to continue his family’s line. Hamza and Karim had already provided that. He knew his father would prefer to expand the business but his mother had always told him that the choice fell on him and Yasmin.

He knew he could back out before the day but that absolutely terrified him. He could lose so much and he didn’t see himself finding a wife otherwise. He didn’t see the point. He knew his parents had no other women to arrange a marriage for him and Yasmin was the top of the tier they could hope for already. They wouldn’t find anyone better if he left now.

His only real option was to leave home and he couldn’t do that without Tariq by his side.

They’d have to keep it quiet. They’d have to build an anonymous life together. Yusuf wanted to travel as a merchant, he could do that easily. Tariq could find trade as a carpenter elsewhere. They could build something together even if they would have to take it with them to their graves and let history forget them, leaving the world known as childless unmarried men.

He wanted that life with him. He wanted all they could get. It wasn’t much but it would still be something he might never even have the chance to get with someone else. If he ever lost Tariq he might never even meet someone like him again. If he ever could love again. They’d spent so many years together that he wasn’t sure another man could fill what had been left.

He pushed that thought away. He still had to ask Tariq about it. His chance to get away from a life set out for him was small but he had to at least try. He was always told he had at least some choice.

He saw Tariq again the following morning.

Tariq greeted him at his home with a deep and long kiss once the door was closed. Yusuf kissed him back, pulling him as close as possible. He already missed him beyond belief, he loved him so much he could spend days upon days writing out that love. The only love that made sense to him was Tariq.

“I missed you,” Yusuf said, burying his face into his shoulder.

Tariq laughed against him. Tariq always told him he loved with too much of his heart. Yusuf wouldn’t disagree, he found his humanity was stored within how much he could love something. Tariq was a little more reserved in his feelings, sparing his words of ‘I love you’ on most days and waiting until the moment felt intense enough.

They moved to sit together on Yusuf’s bed. He had a pile of charcoal and paper next to it he’d left overnight he still hadn’t bothered to clean up.

“I wanted to tell you something,” Tariq said, hands in his lap.

Yusuf smiled. “I did too. You can go first.”

That was when he realised how weak Tariq’s smile was. “My father introduced me to who he would like me to marry the previous night. Noor, you know her I recall.”

He was quiet. Noor was a beauty of a woman, the daughter of a teacher and a imam. She was a few years younger than them so they didn’t run in the same circles for the most part.

“Oh… were you going to court her?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

Tariq bit his lip. “I have always found her to be quite beautiful. I can see myself starting a family with her.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “But I thought… that you were like me?”

Tariq gave him a sad look. “I can love a woman, Yusuf. I’m not like you in that respect. Even though I do love you. I just cannot make life harder for myself if I can avoid it.”

A lump formed in his throat. _No, no, no, no._

“I was going to ask if you wanted to leave with me. To go somewhere we can start a life together and not let anyone stop us.” Now that he was saying it out loud he was realising it was all too much of a dream. One he couldn’t expect Tariq to fall into easily.

“Yusuf… you know we can’t have that. You know our role is to marry.” He shook his head and avoided eye contact. “I’m the only son, I have to do my part. You may be able to find a way to avoid it but I cannot.”

He let out a shaky breath. “I really don’t want to marry, Yasmin.” His voice was small. It was the first time he’d said those words aloud.

Tariq looked back at him. “I think I’d be happy with Noor. Maybe you’d be able to live the rest of your life elsewhere but I can’t. I would love to build something with you if it was possible but that wasn’t made for men like us.”

He knew that. There may never be a time to men who did nothing but love each other could truly live peacefully together.

“I wanted to tell you this now so we could end it all. I think that would be best for both of us,” Tariq continued, his eyes that usually held love turning into pain. “Maybe marrying Yasmin is what would be best for you too, I don’t know why you would want to make your life harder.”

“Sometimes the harder option is the way to happiness.”

“Is the pain worth it?”

“The pain would be marrying Yasmin.” And it was true. He couldn’t marry Yasmin knowing how unhappy that would make him. He’d been trying to figure out what would be best for him to do. If Tariq was going to leave him and he left Yasmin, what would be left for him? Would there even be anything at all?

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to leave with me?” Yusuf asked, even though he knew the answer already.

His eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Yusuf.”

He nodded, feelings tears prickling his eyes.

Tariq took hold of his hand and squeezed it. “In another life, we could’ve been together.”

Yusuf wasn’t sure if that was true but nodded anyway. “I love you.” He said it with finality because that would be the last time he could say it.

For a moment he thought Tariq would lean forward and kiss him or say the words back to him. Instead he let go of his hand and Yusuf watched him leave.

Three weeks passed and the wedding was on the horizon. Yusuf had spent most of that time trying to decide what he wanted.

He knew he could leave him and take care of the merchant business elsewhere, not tied to anyone and only caring about himself. He wouldn’t consider himself a selfish man but he’d spent most of his time trying to be something for others.

He’d thought so boldly Tariq would want to leave their home with him. He thought they could carry it together, and he could immortalise if through poetry.

Instead, he was still picking up the pieces of a broken heart he wasn’t sure what to do with.

All he knew for sure now was that he didn’t want to marry Yasmin.

He left his home for the day to see his parents. With the wedding nearing, he knew he’d have to make them aware of his decision. He couldn’t go on with his life knowing how miserable he’d feel and either leave Yasmin in the dust or bring her down with him. It wasn’t fair, it was that simple.

When he arrived at his parents home, his mother and father were the only ones home.

“Hello, Yusuf!” his mother grinned and kissed his cheek. He gave her a smile in return. “Please sit, I was just preparing tea.”

He nodded and sat down with his father. He waited for his mother to come with the tea before he spoke.

“I have something to tell both of you,” he said, quieter than he’d intended to.

Both of them looked at him expectantly. He took a deep breath. “I’ve decided I do not want to marry Yasmin.”

They were quiet for long drawn out seconds. His father looked hard and his mother’s eyes went soft.

“What do you mean?” his mother asked, sounding confused more than anything. He couldn't blame them, they were so close to the wedding and he’d decided against doing what they had spent so long planning.

He cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea. “I’ve come to realise I wouldn’t be happy.”

His father gave him a deep father gave him a deep frown. “Yusuf, where is this coming from?”

He wished he could voice exactly why but he knew if he were even to try his parents would give him looks that would scar into his memory and taint his perception of them.

“You’ve always said it was my choice and I’ve come to realise I wouldn’t be happy with her. I’m sorry. I know you had this planned for a long time.”

They looked at him then to each other before they both gave a long sigh. His father turned back to him. “I will tell her father of your wishes.”

He nodded, looking down at his tea.

He was out of it but he knew the cost would hurt. Now he just had to leave Tunis, travel far away, and find what he wasn’t even sure he was looking for.

* * *

_Genova, 1087_

It had been two years since it had all started for him.

He’d only been with Pietro a few times before he got bored with him. Nicolò didn’t mind too much, he was simply looking for a fuck. Not any sort of love. Pietro would’ve made a terrible lover of sorts outside of the bedroom.

Nicolò finished seminary in the recent months and had the priesthood responsibility heavily weighing on him.

He wasn’t sure how to describe his situation with men. He’d lacked choice for so long, whether it be career and his life that his attraction became the only thing he could make a decision around. Maybe other men would avoid it and ignore it but Nicolò decided not to. He wanted to make one choice in his life and if he couldn’t even choose who he was attracted to, he could still do what he wanted with it.

His solution was to fall into it as deep as he could. No matter how empty he would feel when it was all said and done.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Maybe love, maybe something else. What he knew he could do was let men treat him however they liked and he was able to feel a man’s touch without consequence. Neither of them would allow the church become aware of their actions, and that was enough prompting to keep things quiet.

He’d heard lying with men be called ways of rebellion in youth. Not even he was sure of that, he didn’t see these feelings going anywhere.

He’d also heard people say that boys did it until they became men and got married. Nicky wasn’t going to get married so there was no way to be sure of that theory.

That was probably how he found himself under another man’s body again.

He finished his spill onto Nicolò’s lower back.

When Nicolò collapsed on the bed in the inn, he heard the footsteps of the man leaving.

He finished himself off on his own before collecting his clothes.

On some days, he wasn’t sure if love was meant for him. He liked the idea but he had enough sense to know that none of the men he would lay with were where he would find it. He got what he wanted and they did the same.

He was never sure which of those men were like him and longed for the touch of another man and which liked him being an eighteen year old youth who was accessible. Someone who wouldn’t say anything if they treated him badly.

He knew he was committing sin but he had already dedicated himself to the church, he had to hope God understood his actions. Even if on some nights he would fall to his knees, clasp his hands at the alter, and ask him what his purpose was for putting these thoughts in his mind.

God gave him freewill. He’d laid out his plan for him already. He wasn’t sure what that path was yet or when he would know.

When he returned to the church he’d been ministering under the priest who ran it, he gave him a long look and said; “You’re being sent to minister at a monastery in the mountains.”

He stared back at him for a long moment. There was no use in arguing. As always, choice never fell onto him.

“When do I leave?” he asked, no sense of argument in his tone.

“In a week. You can say your farewells to your family.”

He nodded along slowly. He’d have to inform his family soon. This was what they wanted for him after all. Maybe they always knew this would be a surefire way to be rid of him.

It was a coldness he was used to that he just had to live with. That was his life and how it would remain.

* * *

_Cairo, 1087_

Yusuf wiped the back of his mouth as he pulled away from Rami, the other man pulling up his trousers.

“You’re good at that,” Rami said and went to dip down to kiss Yusuf. Yusuf pulled back before he could, pulling up his own trousers which were damp with his spent.

“Thank you,” he said and attempted to straighten up his clothes. His curls were probably a mess and there was half certain there was still some of Rami’s spent in his beard.

His grabbed his pouch and left Rami’s home. He started for where he was making camp for the time being.

He’d spent the past year doing what he could to run the merchant business. He sold mostly silver and bronze items like his father had.

He’d also spent the past year more or less breaking hearts before they broke his own. After the pain Tariq left him with he refused to let himself fall into the arms of another man who could shatter his heart so easily.

He didn’t have many plans to go home. After the look on his parents faces of knowing he was walking out on his wedding he wasn’t sure when he would be able to face them again. He couldn’t bear for them to know they whole reason, that would crush them beyond belief.

He wasn’t sure if it was worth it now. He’d fallen out of love with Tariq enough where he barely felt the pain of heartbreak anymore. A younger version of himself might have thought the only cure was to fall in love again. But he wasn’t sure he could let his heart repeat that kind of hurt.

He hadn’t anchored himself down anywhere. He couldn’t risk catching feelings for someone again. Not ever.

He had been seeing Rami for a few weeks now. He’d mostly been seeing his bed. He held no emotion towards the man aside from pure lust. He needed that for himself. That was all it could remain. He would leave Cairo in a few weeks and would never have to think of Rami again.

That was his plan. Building a life with a man was already something difficult to achieve, to risk hurt again wouldn’t be worth it.

* * *

_Genova, 1090_

Nicolò face was pressed into the mattress as Matteo remained behind him, hips bucking back and forth.

Behind him, Matteo was moaning out ‘Nico’ in a way that always sent a shiver up his spine. His hands were holding him steady as he went into him, slow and deep.

When it was over, he rolled on his back. He was still hard, so he looked up at Matteo expectantly.

“Sorry, I need to see Father Gio. I’m sure you can take care of yourself,” Matteo said, barely looking at him as he redressed himself.

He tried to not let his face fall. It wouldn’t matter, Matteo was already walking to the door, closing it behind himself.

“I love you,” he said to the empty room.

He finished himself off in the way he was used to, walked out of the room and down the corridors, deciding he needed to pray.

Monastery life wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. In his first year he confessed his sin of sodomy to one of the other priests.

He’d learned quickly if you confessed to desiring men, other men wired out by the secluded mountains would look to you and put their lack of desire of men aside to find release. They viewed him as being grateful another man would be willing to even touch him.

Nicolò’s biggest problem was that prolonged attention made him fall deep. The men appeared to tire of him within a few weeks while Nicolò had a lovesick ache in his heart he was left alone to heal.

A monastery was no place to find love. He was simply left to lay and be taken, never get anything in return, and keep as quiet as possible. He took what he could get, just like the men who came to him.

After a long prayer, he walked back to his quarters. He still had the salty taste of pre-cum on his tongue that he was half tempted to wash out with holy water.

He sat in his room, deciding to finish scribing Psalms.

It was dark by the time Matteo came back.

“On the bed,” Matteo said before Nicolò could give so much as a ‘hello’.

He listened and stripped off his trousers in the process. He decided to remove his tunic too. Maybe Matteo will be tempted to press his lips to his skin if it was exposed.

He laid on his back as Matteo got the oil. Maybe if he played his cards right he may kiss him on his mouth.

Matteo stared down at him with a curious look. “What are you doing?”

He swallowed. “I was thinking we could do it this way.”

He made a face. “Don’t be ridiculous, then I’ll have to see you.”

His heart clenched at those words. Of course he knew that, he always knew that. He was a body, a vessel for men to find pleasure, not a lover in any sense of the word.

He should tell him he changed his mind. That he simply wanted to sleep. And it could be the last time so he would do this with him.

Instead, he turned onto his stomach, propped himself onto his knees and let Matteo enter him as if he was nothing more than a limp doll made for his pleasure.

When Matteo left, Nicolò stayed in his bed, let his member soften on its own, and curled into himself as his silent tears lulled him to sleep.

* * *

_Tunis, 1092_

When Yusuf first returned home, everything looked the same.

He hadn’t stepped foot in Tunis since he’d left six years ago. He’d written home as much as he could but he never stayed anywhere long enough to receive letters they wrote back.

Ramla’s daughter was curled in his lap as he bounced her up and down. Fadwa looked just like her mother in most ways, her big brown eyes stared up at him in awe.

She was still a baby and Yusuf could already see the world in her eyes.

“I’m so happy you finally came to visit. You left us for too many years,” his mother said as she set down a plate of plums.

He gave a weak smile. “I knew it was best for me. It’s nice to travel.”

His mother gave a hum. “You’re so much like your father. He never liked staying in one place for too long before we were married. Which reminds me, I’m sure you’ve found a nice woman for yourself by now.”

He almost choked on his date. Ramla took Fadwa from him as he spat into his sleeve, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Mama, I told you I don’t plan on marrying,” he said. He told her that the day he left. It was all he could think of to say so she could make sense of why he hadn’t wanted to marry Yasmin.

She rolled his eyes. “You’re still young, you have plenty of time to change your mind.”

He took another date just to avoid talking. Ramla seemed to notice his anxiety and offered Fadwa to their mother to hold. As their mother took her into her arms, they held eye contact for a moment and there was a hint of sympathy in her eyes.

“I’m sorry she treats you like that,” Ramla said when she pulled him to the side. Their mother was still sat on the couch. “It’s not like the rest of us didn’t give her grandchildren.”

He gave a shrug, drinking water she had given him. “I’ll be fine. She’ll get over it. I’m happy just being the childless uncle who shows up occasionally. I don’t want any of that, to fall in love or to get married.”

He wasn’t sure if it would ever be a choice after Tariq. Maybe he was right to say the difficulty and pain of being together wasn’t worth it. He was fine with being in and out of men’s beds, no matter how lonely it made him when he left. There were some days he thought about staying just to hold whoever he was with, but he pushed the thought away. He wasn’t going to willingly fall into hurt, never again.

She squeezed his shoulder. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Umi can be overbearing but I think she just wants you to be happy. That was why she wanted you to marry Yasmin.”

The name sent a shiver up his spine. “How is she doing?” he asked in earnest. He was barely able to face her after he’d called off the wedding. He seemed to feel guilty over everything to do with her no matter what he’d decided to do.

“She got married. She moved to Ahvaz.”

Really, he should’ve known her marrying someone else would be the answer. He kind of hated himself for not even feeling a sting from it. “When did she move?”

She gave a shrug. “Two years after you left I think. He was from a merchant family too. Baba made sure to make a fuss over that.”

His stomach dropped. He knew that regardless of how much work he put into the merchant business, his father would always look at what could’ve been if he had just been a man and married Yasmin. Sometimes he resented the part of him that couldn’t ever love a woman, he could have his own family by now if he wasn’t in that sort of position. Even to just be like Tariq, where there was still room for him to fall in love and marry like most of the men around him.

He wouldn’t be eaten up by loneliness and leaving men’s beds if he didn’t, that he knew for certain.

“I’m sure he will get over it,” he said, although his tone didn’t even convince himself of his words.

Ramla just gave him a weak smile that gave him no confidence.

Karim and Hamza both came to visit. It was already dusk when they stepped through Ramla’s door. Ramla’s husband Aziz greeted them with handshakes before his brothers gave him a hug.

“You’re simply being too free just because you’re young,” Karim said over dinner. “You’re only in your twenty-second year. Once you reach your thirtieth, you cannot get away with not staying in one place.”

Yusuf stared down at his food. “Well, it’s what I decided for myself. I don’t like being tied down to one place.”

“You’ve been like this ever since you left your engagement,” Hamza said, taking a sip of water. “This time in your life isn’t forever. Don’t you want your own children one day?”

He would love his own children one day, but he’d long ago accepted that he wouldn’t have that for himself.

“I’ll make my life whatever I see fit. If I ever do get married, it has to feel right for me.”

His mother gave a dramatic eye roll. “You’re too concerned with romance, it’s not going to get you anywhere if you want a wife, habibi.”

He bit the inside of his cheek and focused on his food.

He was planning to leave by the end of the week. Each day that passed, he wondered to himself if he would ever come back or just stay far away and avoid being the family disappointment. Unmarried, childless, and preferring men were all things his family may never understand.

For the rest of the week, he spent as much time with his nieces and nephews as he could, trying to memorise their faces so he could take them with him.

On his last day, Ramla and his mother left him with kisses on the cheek, Karim and Hamza left him with hugs, and his father gave him a handshake.

“Freedom of being the third son can plague a man,” his father said when their hands dropped. “But you know that temporary and bought company may not be as fulfilling.”

He swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’ll be fine.”

His father watched him before giving a curt nod. “Take good care of the business. And yourself.”

He nodded and went onto his horse, and didn’t look back.

* * *

_Genova, 1096_

Nicolò sat at a window that looked out onto the mountains. It was a beautiful view, he found.

Sometimes he liked to sit there when he was given another broken heart, and all he could do was sit in his thoughts and wonder to himself why he constantly allowed himself to be bedded by men who would rather suffer castration than offer him his own pleasure.

His sin of sodomy was only so much to blame. The desire he had for men extended to love so many times, and he had never experienced the joy of the love being returned.

He would probably never get to. If he’d learned anything through his sin, part of his punishment for longing men was to only ever experience pain from them. That could be the only reason no man has returned any feelings or affection. Not even with Pietro, who he had nothing but lust towards.

“Nicolò.”

He almost jumped out of his skin when Father Gio approached him. He watched the elderly man give him a once over.

“Yes, Father,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. Father Gio was the eldest priest in the monastery, just reaching his seventies.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about something. I’m sure you’ve heard about the calls to take back the Holy Land.”

He felt a lump in his throat. The Holy Land had been under Fatimid control for centuries now. Nicolò didn’t think much of it, and he had to wonder why Father Gio was bringing this up to him.

“Vaguely, yes,” Nicolò said. There wasn’t much to say. He had no say in who had control of the Holy Land.

“Pope Urban II is calling for us to take it back, he has said it is what God is encouraging of us. By any means necessary.”

He watched Gio for a moment. That seemed… excessive. “What would you like me to say to that, Father?”

He stepped closer to him. “Those who fight will be forgiven for any and all of their sins by God. That’s what Pope Urban II also said. If you fight to take back what is ours, then all of your sins will be forgiven. I’m encouraging all of the men here to join but I know you have plenty of your own sin.”

He felt a shiver down his spine. He’d shared far more than what may be necessary in confession with Father Gio. He knew that he acted on his desires, Gio had previously said he’d lead the other men to sin by plaguing them with those thoughts.

Nicolò still wasn’t sure if there was truth to that statement but it still made him wonder how he was viewed by God.

“I’m not a fighter.”

“You can learn. I want your soul to be saved, Nicolò.”

He did as well. He took a deep breath through his nose with his eyes closed, before he opened them and looked him in the eye.

“Where do I begin?”

* * *

_Baghdad, 1098_

‘Home’, Yusuf had realised, was such an abstract term.

He hadn’t known a ‘home’ for over a decade now. Nowhere felt like any place he would want to settle roots down.

He’d been a lost man who was still trying to find something.

Right now, he was just letting men do what ever the willed with his body.

He didn’t remembered the name of his latest conquest as he cleaned himself of the other man’s spent. He had to be washed properly, he wanted to attend a mosque before he missed Asr.

“Did you hear about Antioch.”

It took a moment for Yusuf to realise his conquest was talking to him.

“Yes,” he said weakly. He’d heard plenty of word around it. It made him to sick to even fully think about. He would rather remain in the shadows as a simple merchant who came and went as he pleased.

“They’re planning to take Al-Quds.”

That got his attention. “Are you sure?”

He nodded just before he slipped on his tunic. “Me and some men I work with are planning to make our way down and protect the city.”

“Oh.” Was all Yusuf could say. There wasn’t much input he could put, he never learned more than basic techniques with his scimitar. He only held onto it for whenever he was at risk of being found by bandits.

He tilted his head. “You could come, you know. Defend the city. It would be the right thing to do.”

He considered the words for a moment. There was nothing keeping him in Baghdad and he’d passed Al-Quds many times in his travels. It would be nice to return.

But…

“I’m not a fighter.”

The man shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. My men can teach you. I’m a mercenary, some of the best in the business. We’ll train you well enough so you don’t die once those bastards try to attack.”

He nodded carefully. Yes, he made sense. His life hadn’t amounted to anything in so long, maybe it was all leading up to his chance to do some good. That sense of not belonging anywhere had to amount to something after all this.

Really, part of him was so tired of never finding a home that maybe all he could do was defend someone else’s.

He took a deep breath. “Okay. When do we leave?”

* * *

_Al-Quds, 1099_

They’d landed in Jaffa, commited too much violence in Antioch, and now they stood close to the Holy Land under a dry, blazing sun.

Nicolò was sure his skin had burnt under that sun. His skin always had difficulty with the heat, breaking instead of kissed like it would his sister.

Across from him was the Holy Land. It seemed so out of reach yet so close.

He would be anything for God, even if that included dying in this battlefield and for his sins to expel like blood. What else was a man of sin and loneliness meant to do?

Behind the walls stood another lonely man, one with his own sins and ways to deal with them. Sweat dripped down his face, made of anxiety and fear, but somehow also an acceptance. An acceptance to do everything he could to protect the people inside, as they all waited for the Crusaders’ eventual attack.

Yusuf had become a good fighter. He liked to think so at least. He’d trained for so many months to be ready for this exact moment.

He watched the invaders begin their attack and he was more than ready.

He was sent to stand with the archers. The wall was so high, why hadn’t he ever realised that?

Nicolò felt the wind in his face as he charged on his horse, heels kicking him as hard as he could to go faster. Faster. Faster _. Faster faster._

This is what his life had been leading up to. Never any choices, a duty to please God and he’d do his best to make sure it was what he did to his dying breath—

His horse was shot down.

The wall was collapsing. Yusuf had to jump.

He landed in the dirt with more grace than expected. And there was a man in front of his fallen horse—

There was a man who came from the walls. Nicolò could only growl as he pushed himself to his feet. He took out his sword and went towards the infidel.

The Crusader looked at him as if he were dirt. Yusuf took out his scimitar and fought back.

It wasn’t graceful but it was like a dance the way they went around each other. Try to go for quick kill, use the skill you had, kill him, kill him, _kill him._

Yusuf held back a grin as he got the man in the stomach enough to bleed out—

Nicolò used his last bit of strength to go forward with his sword—

The invader roared as he struck Yusuf in the stomach, a painful piercing—

They died in each other’s arms.

Pain. Death. Heaven. Hell. Neither. Both. Nothing. Anything. Everything.

They woke up next to each other. No, this wasn’t right. He’d definitely struck and received a lethal kill they—

They tried again. A slit throat, a cracked skull. The sweet release to death.

Not dead. Still in the ground. War waging around them.

They looked at each other they—

They tried again. Straddled in a familiar way before hands to throat. Dead.

Eyes open. Knocked off lap. Suffocate in sand. Still. Dead.

Stirs. Alive.

Yusuf watched, the man spitting out sand. He was trying to think of another way. He—

He looked around the battlefield. All he could see was red, all he could smell was smoke.

He looked at the man again. He opened his mouth to say something.

_Maybe we should—_

The man pounced and cracked his neck. Dead.

Alive.

Nicolò’s breathing was heavy. He looked around for a weapon, for water deep enough to submerge a head, for—

Deep brown eyes that were staring at him as twin realisations dawned upon them.

The two men stared at each other as the weight of… _something_ stood between them. The words just hadn’t found them yet.

Yusuf stood first, noticing how his body lacked the kind of ache he would expect.

Pale eyes that reminded him of the Mediterranean stared up at him, Nicolò unsure of what to think or to say.

Yusuf offered his hand.

Nicolò’s eyes shifted between Yusuf’s eyes and his hand. There was still blood and sand on his face, all from Yusuf.

They didn’t know what to expect from that hand. Even then, he reached for it as if it was God Himself reaching out.

When their hands curled around each other, it was as if destiny had wrapped itself around them, tying them together for eternity.


End file.
